


Haze and Fire

by RavenAurelieChoiseau



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: (Mostly) canon character traits, AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Brothers, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Drug Dealing, Flashbacks, House Cleaning, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Love, M/M, Marked explicit for future chapter, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parental Death, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Racism, References to Drugs, Sad with a Happy Ending, Some tags referring to the next chapter, Surprises, Swearing, True Love, Underage Drug Use, Underage Sex, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:20:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22434046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenAurelieChoiseau/pseuds/RavenAurelieChoiseau
Summary: "This place is glued together with despair, Juice. The wood is warped with woe."Tully's father is dead. He and Juice return to California to settle his affairs.Ron's demons wait for him there, locked away in the darkest corners of his childhood home. It will be up to Juice to bring him back into the light.
Relationships: Juice Ortiz/Ron Tully
Comments: 30
Kudos: 79





	Haze and Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OnlyOneWoman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyOneWoman/gifts), [GirlWhoLovesMonsters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GirlWhoLovesMonsters/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Wait for Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19151728) by [RavenAurelieChoiseau](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenAurelieChoiseau/pseuds/RavenAurelieChoiseau). 



> Hello again. Hope you're having a splendid 2020 so far!  
> I decided to post this work in chapters and not one long story because of its emotional intensity. I myself have been struggling getting through its creation, but I'm close to finishing it.  
> Here is chapter one, relatively "light" considering what's to come. But I promised you a happy ending for Juice and Ron and that's what they're going to get, so no worries and that's the only spoiler I'm going to drop here.  
> There will be trigger warnings for abuse and violent descriptions coming up in the next chapter(s). I like to think Ron and Juice maintain their canon personality traits and physical tics for the most part in this story, but again I wrote it with the background of no rape ever happening. Tully and Juice in my mind quite simply fall in love and eventually get out of Stockton to start their life together.  
> We'll see what happens with this I guess.

There’s a sweaty sheen to Juice’s face and if his hands weren’t so fucking filthy he’d wipe the beads standing out on his brow. His black tank top is sticking to his toned back and even his sweatpants are a shade darker grey over the crack of his perfect ass.  
Christ, it’s hot in SoCal. Living in Oregon for 5 years has made him forget how little a faint breeze does to cool a place down (especially when it’s 95 degrees outside).  
He thinks he can actually hear his thoughts sizzling.  
  
The rough ridges of the scuffed floorboards dig into his knees. He’s bent to the left, not doing a very good job of trying to pull the rug from under the sofa.  
Juice’s finger traces the scorch marks in the dirty thing as he tugs (it doesn’t need much else to accentuate its already grungy aesthetic). He cringes in disgust when his hand slides further under the furniture and catches on what appears to the touch to be old gum.  
  
“Christ,” he mutters, reminding himself to wash his hands as soon as possible. His skin crawls imagining whose teeth had chewed it.  
As he finally rolls up the stained runner, more holes appear from beneath the dusty space.  
Jesus, how many times did Gerry fall asleep with a lit cigarette?! Juice asks himself.  
  
Judging from the scent of stale smoke and dried up Glade permeating the place, the answer’s a lot. It’s a miracle he didn’t set the damn house on fire, (though in hindsight it would have saved them both the trouble of having to empty it out).   
  
Even dead, Gerry Tully is a pain in the ass.  
  
_

A box with “SHIT TO BURN” scrawled into its side sits beside Juice, nearly full. Juice laughs to himself at Tully’s sense of humor (he said the same about his father) and as he folds the sullied fabric on top of the other junk, the dust makes him sneeze. He catches most of it on the reaper.   
  
The swell makes it difficult to close the tops and the fold comes undone. Shit!   
  
“Baby, I need another box!” Juice yells in the kitchen’s direction.  
The water’s running in the sink. It’s loud enough to penetrate all the way to the living room along with the sound of light scraping.  
Tully’s probably still trying to get the decade’s worth of grime and smudges out of the tile.  
  
“Ron?”  
Nothing. He waits another 20 seconds and then Juice decides he can’t hear him. He gets up, hiking up the back of his pants with a jerk of his left hand. As he swivels to make his way into the hall, the doorbell rings. Or, at least, he assumes it’s the bell. It sounds like a spoon dropping a room away onto rough carpeting, that’s how faint it is. He wouldn’t have heard it had he not been in the room.  
  
“Ron… the door!”  
It sounds again… and again… and again.  
 _Jesus fuck! Someone agitated much?!_  
  
Juice directs his gaze to the sliver of light and from behind the frosted glass he can make out a fidgeting shadow.  
“Papì you hear me?”  
If Ron didn’t hear him before he probably can't now, either. He might as well take care of this, it might be a neighbor wondering who’s in the house.  
Sighing, he walks over and grabs the loose doorknob.  
  
Another choked clang.  
And another.  
“All right, I’m coming! Calm down!” _What the hell is wrong with this guy? There a fire somewhere?!  
_ Dragging the warped wood with a squeal of hinges, Juice breathes shallowly as it opens. A little irritation at the person’s insistence clefts his rounded chin.  
  
Standing in the door’s yawn is a scarecrow. A stick of a kid, probably a few months shy of getting his license, who looks up at Juice with ever widening eyes. They say they were once periwinkle blue but now they’re so webbed with crimson it’s like studying a cicada’s wings.  
  
Juice narrows the space between him and the Glock sitting on the small table by the entrance. If he needs to, he can overpower the kid and still get to the gun.  
Perhaps he’s being paranoid, but a stint in prison does that to you. Trust no one.  
  
Juice squints, then cocks one eyebrow.  
“Yeah?”  
  
The kid’s stare slits like a camera shutter a second later, as if he’s focusing because he doesn’t understand what’s happening.  
A quick survey leaves him even more confused.  
Reaper tat, left forearm.  
White skull and black skull peeking from behind the cotton of his sleeveless tank. This guy isn’t Gerry and he sure as hell ain’t white.  
  
“Who the fuck are you?” the kid spits, rubbing his forearm with insistence. Juice pretends not to notice the fresh track marks or the way he’s shifting from left foot to right like he’s warming himself up.  
In this heat?! He’s got it bad.  
  
“I’m sorry, who the fuck are _YOU_?” Juice replies, putting his old MC face back on. He thrusts his chest forward and flexes a bicep in a total peacock move.  
This may be just a punk but addicts will do ANYTHING for a dose.  
  
The kid runs a shaky hand through his long, greasy hair. The blond locks fall loosely over his shoulders emphasizing even further the sharp angles of his cheekbones.  
Had he been scouted in time, he could have easily been a model. Instead, his desperate gaze darts up and down the block like he’s got an open warrant.  
  
The teen pinches his elbow with blackened fingernails, trying to convince himself he exists.  
  
“Well?” Juice insists. “What the fuck do you want?”  
“Gerry here?”  
It comes out a little weak. He’s losing some of his bravado?  
Dressed in nothing but a torn t-shirt, basketball shorts, and flip flops, none of which fit him, the unwelcome visitor resembles a broom shaking in men’s clothing. Loose canon? Yes.   
A real danger? Probably not.   
  
“Who’s asking?”  
“I’m Tony. Gerry… he… “  
Tension grips the youth’s jaw and when he opens his chapped mouth further, Juice notices his two missing teeth. Fuck, how long has this kid been on meth?  
  
“Gerry… “  
Suspicion makes him crane his neck over Juice’s shoulder to see into the living room. The cardboard tetris lining the walls doesn’t lend him much of a clue thanks to the withdrawal that’s fogged his brain.  
“I need a hit, man. Gerry… where’s Gerry? He’s always hooked me up.”  
  
Juice lets his arms drop. He takes a cautious step to the side and opens and closes his right fist. One eye on the Glock, he replies curtly.  
“Gerry ain’t here.”

-  
  
“Since when he got a wetback selling for him?” the kid says and fuck if that isn’t what gets Juice riled up. He’s used to being called a faggot and a snitch… but racial slurs?!  
 _At least get them right, you prick_.  
  
“What the fuck did you just call me?!”  
The nerve of this fucking fifteen-year-old snot-nosed asshole coming up in here and…  
  
“Step away from the door, Juan Carlos.”  
He feels Tully fill in the frame before his love even finishes the sentence. Juice gives him room and immediately wraps his hand around the piece. Just in case.   
  
Tully throws the dish towel over his massive shoulder. He takes all of two blinks to size up the situation.  
Ron clears his throat, purposely leaning forward. Long inked fingers straighten the hem of his immaculate t-shirt.  
  
“How can I help you, young man?” Tully’s politeness only underlines his annoyance.  
  
The teen swallows hard. Rakes lines into the top of his hand.  
“Gerry. He here? I need a hit, man. I’m Tony. He’s always hooked me up but you know I’m out now and shit if I… ”  
“You’re fiending bad, huh?” Tully enquires with a tilt to his dark head.  
It’s a rhetorical question. The kid is jumpier than a parolee during a piss test, of course he’s fiending.  
  
“Yeah man. Help a brother out, come on. Don’t make me wait for Gerry to come back.”  
The look on Tony’s gaunt face grows hope. Shit, the guy’s got swastika’s all over him, this must be Gerry’s kid for sure, the one he said was in prison for a while. He’ll do right by him!  
  
“Gerry isn’t coming back. My father is deceased.”  
The statement is as cursory as it is unemotional.  
  
The news shakes Tony into momentary, gasping silence.  
“Wha- What?! Gerry’s dead?!” he stutters, the strain to his voice carrying it an octave.  
  
“That would be a correct description of his current state, yes.”  
Ron folds his arms across his massive chest and sniffs. Juice chuckles to himself.  
One of the many boxes marked SHIT TO BURN is Gerry’s “urn.” Tully had half a mind to just let him rot in the backyard, but when the neighbor called it in and the police came, the body was removed. It was taken to the morgue and then they were forced to follow proper actions.  
  
“Fuck! Shit!” Tony quakes violently despite the heat. His knuckles rub into his sockets trying in vain to clear his head.  
“Man, you got any? Man I really fucking need a hit… just _one_ … “   
  
The concern for Gerry’s well-being is immediately overcome by the need to score. Naturally. Who in their right mind would weep for Gerry Tully, anyway?  
  
“Anthony.” The name is punctuated by a deep breath escaping Ron's plush lips.   
“Let me explain something to you. While I’m quite sure my recently expired father has a Sanka can marked ‘meth’ somewhere in his pantry, unfortunately for you I am not of the same belief system as him. I wouldn’t sell to you if I could. I actually invite you to stop shaming your race by fitting so neatly into the white trash stereotype.”  
  
A hot band tightens around Tony’s laboring lungs. Fuck! He was sure he was gonna score and now he’s gonna have to walk over to Hank’s place and that’s five blocks from here in this fucking heat and there must be meth in there Jesus Christ why won’t this asshole just fucking sell him some…  
  
“Also… “ Tully continues, dark unspeaking eyes prolonging the moment. The kid’s head slumps forward and he takes a step back, nearly falling down the step.   
“Before assuming I’m like my father because of my Nazi ink, let me reveal to you that not only am I NOT racist, this gorgeous man right here is my husband.”  
  
Juice’s face pops over and back into view. A raised left hand waves hello and a glimmer of sunlight sparkles against his wedding ring.  
“Since I’m fairly certain you’re heading for prison, you’ll discover that inside you’ll do whatever it takes to survive. Oh _and..._ Juan Carlos is Puerto Rican, not Mexican. If you wish to use a racial slur, at least get it right.”  
  
The sun is pounding down now, beating onto the top of Tony’s head like his heartbeat drumming in his chest. He’s not sure if his face is hot from humiliation or heat.  
“We clear?”  
“Yes sir,” Tony mumbles through clenched teeth. His sooty toes wriggle in his oversized flip-flops. All he wants to do now is NOT be here. He needs to get a fix and quick and…  
  
Tully sends him off with one last request.   
“I’d be much obliged if you could tell all of Gerry’s other 'patrons' that he won’t be dealing anymore from this location. And if they still want to stop by, his cock-loving Nazi-inked ex-con of a son will be thrilled to show them the path of righteousness.”  
  
“What?!” A deepening frown of blank incomprehension takes over Tony’s expression.  
  
Ron chuckles. “I’m sorry, did I use big words again? I’m always doing that, aren’t I, Juice?”  
Juice intertwines his fingers with Tully’s and nods slowly. A smirk makes his cheeks dimple.  
“Yeah, he’s always doing that.”  
  
“Let me put it in simpler terms so you understand. Get your fiending, racist ass off my property. _We.ain’t.selling_.”   
  
Ron’s face, a marble effigy of contempt, is the last thing Tony sees before Ron uses his shoulder to shut the door.  
_

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this piqued your interest and that you enjoyed my version of these two unexpected lovebirds.  
> Please feel welcome to kudo and comment and if you like a particular phrase or part of the story I'd love to hear from you. Don't be shy!  
> As always thanks for your support, I'm gifting this story to the two people I know love reading/writing about them.  
> Enjoy!


End file.
